Sharp Dressed Man
by loves-labors-won
Summary: Sherlock needs new clothes and because he is secretly a six year old in a grown man's body, John has to go with him shopping.


I wrote this one shot as a response to a prompt sent to me on tumblr by ThePhantomIsSherlock.

The Prompt: Sherlock sends John to get him clothes… including underwear. Run with it.

_Beta'd and Brit-Pricked by SeriouslySherlock on tumblr._

John came down downstairs to find Sherlock pacing around the living room in his dressing gown, every once in a while mumbling to himself about God knows what. He continued like this the whole time John was in the kitchen making himself a cup of tea. When John sat down with his tea and lightly buttered toast is when Sherlock left the front room and entered his own room.

From down the hall he heard, "John, I need clothes."

"What d'you mean you need clothes," John shouted from his place at the table.

"Well, our last few cases have been practically rigorous and somewhat detrimental to my wardrobe. One of my pairs of trousers are stained beyond repair with rubbish," He said as he entered the kitchen so the could continue this conversation without shouting.

"Well it was your idea to hide in the bin behind Angelo's," John interjected, remembering that night vividly.

Sherlock continued as if John hadn't spoken, "Two of my suit jackets are ripped, one from that time you had to pull me up by the lapels to keep me from falling in the Thames, and the other time from when we were chased by that German sheppard."

"That dog did have a taste for your flesh," John added with the corners of his mouth turning up as he remembered.

" And at least three of my shirts are stained with blood from either you, someone from the yard, or a victim," John just wrinkled his nose at that. Then shouting as if just remembering, "And that pair of pants I had to rip the elastic waist band out of to use it as a tourniquet for that woman who we found just after she got shot in the leg by the man who always wore his rain jacket."

"Yes, that was a strange day. But the waist band thing was inventive. The type of inventive thinking that we used to have to use when treating people on the front line."

"Yes I'm sure," Sherlock brushed that comment off as if it was unimportant, "But I still need new clothes."

"Yeah, and what do you except me to do about it?" John asked, annoyed with what he already excepted to be the answer.

"Well, I thought you could go and -"

"No. You're a grown man. if I'm going to be shopping for clothes for you, you're coming with me."

"Fine," Sherlock said knowing that if he wanted John's cooperation he would have to agree. He then turned and left to room to get dressed.

They entered though the automatic doors of the department store. John looked around thoughtfully and noticed displays of men's clothing to the right to them. John headed in that direction, Sherlock following behind, looking around as if he was trying to commit every detail of the store to memory. Probably was, in case their was a murder at the department store one day. John stopped in front of a display of trousers towards the front of the men's section.

"Here's some trousers. They look like the type you usually wear. What size are you?"

"I don't know."

"What d'you mean you don't know? You're a grown man and you don't know your own trouser size," John said, more annoyed than he should be this early in the trip.

"Why do you keep pointing out the fact the I'm grown? My being an adult does not change the fact that I don't know my own trouser size or that I have no interest in anything having to do with my clothes."

"Ok...Well, turn around."

"Why?" he said indignantly.

"So I can see what size the trousers you're wearing are and then pick out new ones in that size," he shot back as if Sherlock should have deduced that that was what he was planning.

"Sound logical," he said and then promptly followed John's directions. John found the tag in the back of Sherlock's trousers. He felt a little ridiculous that had to do this at all so before reading the tag he stole a quick glance around the store. Standing a few aisles away was a woman watching them and trying to stifle a laugh. He quickly read the tag and tuck it back into his flatmate's trousers, acting as if he hadn't.

"Ok," John said to no one in particular and then turned back to the rack of trousers. He sifted through the piles for a minute or two and then pulled out a pair, "How 'bout these?"

"They seem fine," Sherlock replied as if he was annoyed by the fact that John was asking him about something as uninteresting as trousers.

"Alright, then go try them on," John directed, sounding a bit more like a parent then he was comfortable with.

"Why?"

"To see if they fit."

"But if they are the same size as the ones I'm wearing why do I have to see if they fit."

"Because every company make their trousers differently."

"That defeats the purpose of a standardized sizing system. If they are going to make their trousers differently from every other company then why put the same size as other companies."

"I don't know Sherlock. Will you just go try them on please?"

"If it is crucial to the clothes purchasing process," he huffed childishly.

John waited outside of the dressing room door, listen to Sherlock move around behind it.

When the sound of movement stopped he asked, "Do you have them on?"

"Yes."

"Do they fit?"

"Yes."

"Come out so I can have a look."

"I told you that they fit. Why do you have to look?" he said, testing John patience.

"Would you just get out here," John hissed.

"I don't see why I have to if we established that -" John interrupted that train of thought by flinging open the changing room door.

He gave Sherlock a quick once over and then said, "They look good. Let's get'em. Put your other trousers back on." Sherlock wordlessly followed his directions and they moved on to the next part of their mission.

"See any shirts that catch your eye," John ask as they made their way deeper into the racks of clothing.

"I feel no emotional attachment to any pieces of clothing if that's what your asking,"Sherlock replied practically yawning.

"Are you going to help at all during this trip?"

"What would you like me to do to help John?"

"I don't know. pick something out, be a little cooperative," John said while gesturing vaguely to the clothes around him.

"Alright," he said as he scanned the room briefly. He walked over to the rack with piles of button up shirts folded neatly on it, "These."

"Ok," John walked over the where Sherlock was to look at the shirts Sherlock was looking at. "I'm guessing that probably don't know your shirt size either. You know the drill," John said as he made a motion for Sherlock to spin around.

"Bend down a bit," John asked once Sherlock's back was facing him. Sherlock smirked to himself and crouched down so that John could see the tag in his shirt.

"Ok. Do you want a white one?" John asked, pointing to the pile of white shirts.

"Yes"

"And how about … a black one... and a blue one," John said, stretching out the phrase while he was thinking. Sherlock just nodded in agreement. He looked through the piles until he had a shirt in Sherlock's size of each color he had stated.

"Ok. Let's see about getting you some pants," John stated awkwardly.

"Don't I have to try on the shirts or are all shirt companies ahead of the curve in terms of standardized sizes?" Sherlock asked, his voice dripping sarcasm.

"I think the shirts will be fine," John said flatly, losing the energy to reply to Sherlock with witty remarks.

They walked through the maze of clothes racks and displays to the back of the store where the miscellaneous clothing like undergarments and socks were housed. they found the aisle they needed and John scanned the different packages hanging in front of them. After a few moments Sherlock noticed that John was looking at the display and thought that maybe he should be doing that too instead of studying their security cameras to find holes in the their system.

"Which ones do you want to get?" John asked ending the silence between them.

"I don't know. Can't you just pick one John?"

"No, because I don't know what kind you usually wear. That's a personal matter," John said not knowing whether to be annoyed or laugh.

"Well I don't know what type they are either. They're black. Is that helpful?"

"Not really... So you're telling me that you know what brand of underwear makes a man gay but you don't know anything about the type of underwear that you wear everyday."

"That's different. That cultural information. Cultural information is important for evaluating motives for people's actions. Cultural information gives context to people's clothing choices, which can be important in certain deductions." Sherlock was ranting, but gained his composure quickly afterward and hopped off of his high horse as quickly as he hopped on it.

"Ok...Well, do your pants have legs or no?" John asked as if he was talking to a child.

"Yes, They do."

"Are they tight or loose?"

"Tight," Sherlock said. They were both quiet for a beat just looking at each other

Then John pushed passed the awkwardness and said, "Alright. That I can work with." He looked at the different packages for a little while longer. When he found what he was looking for he took it off the peg and glanced at the back to check the size chart. He gave a small nod and said, "Yep. These will do."

Sherlock nodded in agreement the way he always does, stiffly and only once. As the made their way back to the front of the store to pay they passed by a woman in her mid-forties looking at an end cap filled with socks. She had been their for several minutes and had probably heard a majority of their conversation.

Sherlock was a few paces ahead, eager for this shopping trip to end so he was out of ear shot when the woman turned to John and said, "Drives you up the wall sometimes, huh? My husband's the same way."

"He's n- oh never mind," John huffed and walked away. And if that wasn't enough, he could tell by the look in the eyes of the teenager girl who checked them out, by the little smile that turned up the corners of her mouth that, even she thought we were a couple.


End file.
